


The Knight Captain's Favour

by Defira



Series: Tarnished Silver [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Falling In Love, First Date, Forbidden, Magic, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of Enemies Among Us, when Hawke has defeated Tarohne and cleared the ranks of the Templars to rid them of demons, Knight Captain Cullen pledges that the Templar order is in Garrett's debt.</p><p>Unfortunately, Garrett takes this quite literally, and harasses the Knight Captain almost daily for eighteen months in an attempt to free Bethany from the Gallows. When that plan fails, he asks instead for something much more simple- a single night of freedom for his sister.</p><p>This story has small references to an AU story of mine, hinting at the history between the pair. Bethany and Cullen first encountered each other in the Chantry the day after Karl's death, then again in the foothills chasing after Wilmod. When Bethany was finally taken to the Gallows, Meredith had her locked in solitary confinement for two weeks to 'break her in'; during that time, Bethany fell desperately ill and went unnoticed for several days. Cullen was the one to discover her, and in her fevered state she unwittingly revealed her attraction to him.</p><p>Bethany has been in the Gallows for eighteen months now... and the attraction is not one sided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The Knight Captain's Favour: Part I**

 _Set between Act I and Act II_

 _Several years ago, Knight Captain Cullen pledged to Garrett Hawke that he was in his debt for ridding the ranks of the Templars of demon infestation. Not long after that, Garrett tried to call in that favour by begging that his sister Bethany be allowed to go free instead of being taken to the mage prison known as the Gallows. The Knight Captain refused. Now several years and many angry confrontations later, Garrett has returned to the Gallows to call in the favour._

 

"No," Cullen snapped, slamming his hands down onto the desk. "Absolutely not. This is not an alehouse, Hawke. The mages do not come and go as they please- they are kept here permanently, as much for their own protection as for everyone else's. I thought we had reached an understanding on that point."

They sat in his office in the Templar quarters of the Gallows; Garrett Hawke sat opposite him in his fine armour, lanky legs crossed at the ankles in front of him and his chin propped up by a hand as he stared darkly at him. He'd done quite well for himself in the last few years, ever since that almost disastrous foray into the Deep Roads, and Cullen was actually of the opinion that if Bethany hadn't given herself away in the depths of the undercity while healing refugees, Garrett would have succeeded in keeping her safe. He had the money, the power and respect afforded to an old Kirkwall family, and he certainly had the temperament of a formidable man that few people wished to cross. If he had returned from the Deep Roads only a day or two sooner, they might not be in this predicament right now, fighting over Bethany like children squabbling over a favourite toy.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Garrett rumbled, his deep voice flat with scorn. "I didn't realise that the word of a Templar Captain meant so little. My mistake, really- since when has a soulless corpse been able to fulfil its obligations to another?"

Cullen gritted his teeth. "What you ask is impossible, Hawke, and you know it as well as I. We have been over this endlessly in the last eighteen months; I _cannot_ release Bethany from the Gallows and you-"

"It's for _one_ night!" Garrett snapped, coming forward in the chair. "I know it's hard for you to envision other people having a life, since you spend so much of yours trying to _destroy_ their lives but-"

"I spend my life dedicated to _saving_ lives, Hawke," Cullen hissed. "You'd do well to remember that before you start throwing accusations around wildly. It's hardly likely to endear you to me further, or make me feel inclined to indulge your petty requests."

Hawke's nostrils flared and he sat back in the chair. "So what now, Cullen? I just keep coming and begging to call in that favour and you just keep refusing me?"

"If you asked for something reasonable, I would be happy to oblige," Cullen said, counting backwards from ten in his head as he fought the urge to throw the fool out on his ear. "I will not break Chantry or Templar law for you, yet you insist on asking for things beyond my power." His expression became serious. "Hawke... Garrett, I'm _begging_ you. You are only making it harder for Bethany by continuing on like this."

"I love my sister; she deserves better than this hellhole."

"No one is debating whether or not you love Bethany, Hawke," Cullen said, fighting the urge to sigh and bang his head on the desktop. "Anyone who questioned your dedication to family would have to either be blind or in possession of a death wish. But even if your sister deserves better, it does not change the fact that this is where she belongs. Wishing otherwise does not change anything."

Hawke slumped sullenly, the hope leaving him. "It's only _one_ night; surely you can twist the rules for just one night?"

"Hawke, do you realise how much harder it is for Bethany to settle in here with you constantly raising a fuss? There are other mages who are resentful that she still has contact with her family; there are Templars who go out of their way to make things miserable for her whenever you come storming into the Hall causing havoc-"

"You let those fiends touch my sister?" Hawke snarled, coming nearly to his feet as he lunged forward. At the last second he stopped himself from grabbing across the desk to pummel the Knight Captain's sneering face.

"Calm yourself, Hawke," Cullen snapped, leaning discreetly out of reach. "The first man who tried was banished from the Order. I do not tolerate that kind of behaviour amidst my ranks; Meredith feels likewise. But I cannot be everywhere at once- even if it's just a foot set in her path to trip her, or issuing complicated errands so that she gets caught outside her room after curfew, I cannot prove every infraction against her. Whenever you visit, it only gets worse."

And he hated it infinitely, but he could hardly do anything more about it. He had gone out of his way to not bring attention to Bethany Hawke in the last year and a half, studiously avoiding her so as not to make the more agitated members of the Templar Order consider her a valid target for their cruel games. It infuriated him that such an attitude continued to pervade their ranks, but he couldn't blame Meredith for holding onto men who were perfectly adequate at the task set out for them. Whenever he happened to interrupt their bullying, he made a point of disciplining the Templars involved, but the mages hardly ever came forward with complaints anymore. If he made a point of instructing them to leave Bethany alone, it would only intrigue and tantalise them; he wouldn't do that to her, so it was better if he turned a blind eye to all but the worst of the crimes.

"The solution to this problem would seem obvious to me," Hawke said sullenly. "If she wasn't here in the first place, she would not suffer these indignities."

And the argument had come full circle again. It was almost tediously predictable. "Hawke," he said with a sigh, "I _cannot_ let Bethany go. Please, I'm _begging_ you- for her sake if nothing else- ask me something else."

"I _am_ asking you something else!" Hawke snapped, suddenly alive with fury. "One night is not so terrible, and it's only a birthday party. Surely no harm can come of that!"

"Mages cannot come and go as they please" Cullen said, resting his face in his hand; it didn't matter if his words were muffled by his palm, since Hawke probably knew them by rote by now. "For one night or one lifetime, the rules are the same. Additionally, it is well known that you and your friends are mage sympathizers; it would hardly look good for me to let Bethany spend an evening in such company."

"It's hardly like we're going to be fermenting a rebellion," Hawke said, rolling his eyes. "And there will be plenty of people there with different views to us. Maker's Breath, my mother has invited the Viscount and his son! The Prince of Starkhaven will be there- it isn't some dingy, drunken affair in a back room of the Hanged Man, populated by fugitives and evil-doers. It is a proper Hightown soiree, and the only scandalous thing that will occur will be if the chef overcooks the fish. How can you possibly object to that?"

There was a knock on the door and both men looked up. The lady in question stood in the doorway, eyes alight with joy when she spotted her brother. "Garrett!" she squealed, dashing towards him. He stood up quickly to sweep her into his arms, spinning her in a quick circle. "Someone said they'd seen you arrive, and I missed you last time- it's so good to see you!"

The last few years had been good to Bethany; while the Gallows was not the most pleasant place to live, the guilt she had carried for the entirety of her life at forcing her family to hide and protect her had lifted, and amongst her own kind she had blossomed. The hints of adolescence had vanished from her face, and the woman that had been hinted at in her features when he first met her had emerged with a flourish. She was a confident and delightful member of the Circle, taking great joy in teaching the youngest children brought to them, helping them to adjust to life without their families.

She was also a greater temptation for him with each passing day, a woman of faith and distinction who seemed to grow more beautiful each time he looked at her. After having Hawke rub his emotions raw for the last hour, it was abruptly too much to be in her company.

"I'll leave the two of you to your reunion, then, shall I?" he said, although he wondered if they even heard him over their excited chatter. He left them in his office, his head full of dark thoughts and his heart heavy.

***

The small chapel was empty, for which he was immensely grateful. He knelt briefly before the statue of Andraste, murmuring a quick prayer before he took a seat on the front pew. The smell of incense smoke hours old and the more immediate wisp of candle smoke from the beeswax candles burning at the foot of the effigy were soothingly familiar and he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as the surroundings worked to quieten the turmoil in his spirit.

He hated Garrett Hawke's visits with a passion that alarmed him; mostly because the young man made him confront everything about his role that made him desperately unhappy. He did his best not to question the path the Maker had set for him, for he had seen firsthand how badly mages could turn against their fellow man. He knew without a doubt in his heart that mages needed to be contained, their magic closely monitored- if not for the good of the rest of society, then at least to protect them from themselves.

But then Hawke would stalk through the door and start hissing accusations at him, insisting that Bethany needed love and family and protection. The inevitable argument always had him on the back foot, trying to defend practices that were making him feel more and more uncomfortable as every day went past. Of course there would be Templars who abused their position of power, who lorded their authority over their mage charges; it was the way of the world. There were nobles who treated their servants with the same cruel disdain and used them for their own debauched pleasures; there were city guards who undoubtedly used their uniform to wheedle coin out of those caught in compromising situations, rather than arresting them as they should.

He couldn't change human nature, but when one angry brother stared daggers at him and asked him to explain why his sister was at risk from such men and women, he felt like the most wretched villain in the history of the Chant. There were rules to be obeyed; for the good of society he had to ensure they were maintained at any cost. Yet with every new accusation and each new complaint his soul burned a little more from the realisation that he didn't want Bethany to be anywhere near those fiends.

He was the Knight Captain of Kirkwall, and such desires would have disastrous consequences for them all.

Since that wretched day so long ago when he had found her ill in solitary confinement, he had made it his goal to stay as far away from Bethany Hawke as possible. He couldn't remove temptation from his life entirely, but he could avoid it; he never engaged her in conversation unless absolutely necessary, and if they passed each other in the hallway he nodded politely and made every effort not to smile. He was respectful but aloof whenever he had to interact with her and he definitely made sure he never ever touched her. The memory of her warm curves in his arms as he carried her to the infirmary, her face pressed into his neck and her dainty fingers clinging desperately to his shoulders while she wept quietly, was the most precious of his brief collection of memories containing her and he knew that if he could react so powerfully to her while ill, he would be unable to hide his response to her if he touched her while she was capable of touching him in return.

Even the mere thought of it made his jaw clench and his blood heat markedly; how much worse would it be to actually experience it? He had to maintain his control at all costs, else his entire purpose for being and his duty itself would be compromised irrevocably.

It had grown so bad at times that he had lain awake at night, consumed by thoughts of her in his arms again. But the situation was different- she was not ill, and he was not bound by his vows and there was so very much he could have done if only that opportunity had arisen. He had not always been a Templar, and though his misspent youth was the better part of two decades behind him, he knew what it was to take a woman in his arms; to think of Bethany like that had left him with his blood afire until the small hours of the morning, refusing to succumb to the weakness of his body and purge himself.

His weakness had been used against him in the past, by cruel demons taunting him with the form of another woman he had refused to touch; he would be damned before he would let that happen again. He would master himself and subdue this obsession before it tried to destroy him again.

At his back, he heard the door swing quietly open and a light set of feet hesitated just within the doorway. Thinking he must have interrupted another tryst in the making- why else would someone pause in the door unless they'd been expecting to find the chapel empty?- he turned in the seat to see just exactly who he had unintentionally caught and felt his breathing just stop.

Bethany stood framed in the doorway, her expression nervous. "Miss Hawke," he said, quickly coming to his feet and bowing respectfully. "What can I help you with?"

"Knight Captain," she said, bobbing politely in response to his bow, stepping further into the room as she spoke. His spine slowly stiffened as she came closer; his thoughts were still in turmoil, and he always made damned sure not to be left alone with her even when he was in a good frame of mind. Right now was assuredly not a good frame of mind. "I wanted to apologise to you- on Garrett's behalf. His heart is in the right place, but he lacks... aplomb, at even the best of times. I have asked him not to bother you further."

Maker, but she was beautiful. There was something desperately attractive about a woman with dignity and courage and in the months that she had been here, she had never wavered from her strict moral principles. He had never seen her lash out in anger at stupidity or cruelty, never heard of her voicing a bad word about anyone despite the occasional wrongs that were levelled at her. She was, without a doubt, the brightest soul he had ever come into contact with. And now she had told her own brother to stop harassing him, even though he was begging for her freedom?

He had to get out of the chapel, and quickly, before he did something regrettable.

"No thanks are necessary, Miss Hawke," he said politely, internally breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't come any closer. "You are blessed to have family that cares for you so deeply."

She smiled and the sight made his armour remarkably uncomfortable; but he at least had the small stroke of luck in that he wasn't likely to be embarrassed by his condition while safely ensconced in a steel shell. "I am very lucky," she said, her eyes wistful; sweet blood of the prophet, this was why he shouldn't be alone with her. Did she not know what that expression was doing to him? Her eyes, particularly, had become his greatest obsession and seeing the warmth of emotion flicker through the golden depths made his head light. "And I owe Garrett a great deal. That is why I'm here, actually. I'm not just here to apologise; I wanted to try and compromise with you."

His lustful thoughts vanished instantly, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "That does not sound promising," he said coldly.

"No, no, it's nothing sinister," she said quickly, shaking her head and stepping closer. "I want to help; this nonsense about the favour has gone on for far too long, and it isn't helping anyone. Garrett can't move on with his life until he accepts the fact that this is my home now, and no matter how he begs or threatens nothing will change that."

Cullen relaxed slightly, his suspicion fading. "That is... a sensible view to take," he said. "What are you suggesting, Miss Hawke?"

She laughed nervously, her gaze dropping for the first time. "You can call me Bethany, you know. I believe we covered that some time ago. You know, with all the lurking."

The absurd conversation in the hills above Kirkwall after discovering his recruits were being possessed by demons drifted back to mind, and he couldn't help but smile. "Well, I must confess I'm yet to see you _lurk_ , as such," he said, the sensible part of his brain railing furiously at him for indulging himself by flirting. He took it to heart, and the smile fell away from his face. "Fine then, _Bethany_. What are you suggesting?"

She visibly steeled herself before she said "I think you should allow Garrett this favour."

He tensed immediately. "Bethany, this is not something that is up for discussion, particularly by you of all-"

"Hear me out," she said desperately, quickly stepping closer yet again. He didn't have time to scamper backwards before she was in front of him, her hand on his forearm as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Garrett will never stop coming to ask for me, and you will never be able to accommodate him. I understand that, I know what Chantry law says, but Garrett cannot get his head around that. He believes that with enough money, or enough persistence or violence, he will take me from here. He will never leave you alone while this favour still exists between you."

"I had gathered as much," he said drily. "Although his determination is admirable, to still be asking after nearly two years."

She smiled slightly, and the sight cooled his anger further. "You should have seen him as a child; I could never win a game of Dane and the Werewolves, even if he played as the wolves."

The thought of Bethany as a spirited young girl, dashing through fields after her tenacious older brother flitted through his head and he couldn't help but smile in return. "Perhaps we should all be thankful he and I have not been acquainted for longer. We've done well enough not to kill one another so far."

At that her expression sobered and her wide eyes sought his. Blessed Andraste, her _eyes_ \- they would surely be the death of him. "I couldn't bear it if the two of you came to blows over this silly favour," she said, biting her lip and drawing his gaze unintentionally to her mouth. He looked away as quickly as he realised what he was doing. "This request, asking for a single night, is the best opportunity you have to wash your hands of him. One night, and it will all be done. Please, Cullen: it is the best offer you will get."

His mind immediately went elsewhere as she begged him for _one night_. Maker save him, but he couldn't stop the flood of images, the imagined sighs and cries that _one night_ might hold. He felt his blood ignite, the wild longing fighting to break from his control. He couldn't help that she had worded an innocent request so poorly, but _Maker_ , he could stop himself from acting like some shameless youth and lunging for her.

Either his expression betrayed him or his silence had given her time to process her words, for she gasped, hands flying to her mouth in alarm as she backed away quickly. "I didn't... oh, _Maker_ , I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I wasn't... that wasn't... I wasn't propositioning you to try and make you change your mind!"

"I know that," he said, his voice raw with barely contained need. _Get a hold of yourself man!_

Her face was bright red as she came to a stop nearly six feet away, hands jerkily smoothing out wrinkles on her enchanter robes. She probably would have fled further but the chapel was only so large. "I, um, I was simply trying to illustrate how beneficial it would be to let me go to the dinner party," she said, her words so precisely pronounced that he knew she was carefully selecting each word before she spoke it. "Garrett has asked for my presence at the dinner party as his favour; if you allowed it, it would end your obligation to him. He would leave you alone, he would get on with his life, and I would be here, with no doubt about whether I am at risk at being spirited away by my brother."

"Mages cannot just come and go as they please, Miss Hawke," he said. He thought she winced slightly at the name. "I cannot allow you to go to Kirkwall alone, to spend the evening in the company of mage sympathizers."

"Then send a chaperone along with me," she said, still refusing to look at him as she fidgeted anxiously. The colour in her cheeks had not yet dissipated. "Send me with a guard, someone to supervise me and make sure I do not make a run for the door."

He gritted his teeth. "Miss Hawke, I cannot make special exceptions for anyone; even if I could, I could not ask another Templar to deal with the fallout of an oath that I pledged. I cannot ask another to risk punishment by escorting you from the Gallows."

The stillness that overtook her should have been a warning. "Why... why can't you escort me yourself?"

More damnable images assailed him- Bethany, dressed in Hightown fashion with her hair pinned artfully; sitting beside her in the intimacy of a candlelit dinner, regardless of whether or not there were two dozen other people in the room; watching her laugh with her brother and flirt with his friends; and the _dancing_ , her face flushed from laughter and exertion, coming into his arms as the music stirred around them, her body swaying gracefully to the rhythm...

He needed to get out of there.

He bowed stiffly in her direction. "I thank you for attempting to intervene in the situation, Miss Hawke," he said shortly, "and I will consider your words. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have wasted too much of my morning on this tedious affair already."

Stalking towards the door, he heard her breath hitch at his callous tone and she called out his name. He hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at her as she struggled for words. When her shoulders slumped in defeat, he tried not to feel how deeply it cut at him.

"Good morning to you, Miss Hawke," he said, before leaving her alone in the chapel.

***

"A message came for you, messere," Bodahn said as he took Hawke's coat. "I put it on your desk for you."

"Thank you, Bodahn," he said, stepping around Rabbit who was lying sprawled on his back before the fire. The large Mabari was snoring and he chuckled at the sight as he flicked through the mess on his desk for the aforementioned missive. He paused when he found the small note, folded in half and sealed with red wax- with the Templar symbol pressed into the seal.

Glancing over his shoulder to the dwarf, he said "How long ago did this come, Bodahn?"

"Oh, not more than ten minutes ago, messere. It was delivered by one of those Templars, very fine armour he had."

"Was it the Knight Captain?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so messere. This fellow had much darker hair; not as polite as the Knight Captain either."

Not really knowing what to make of the last part of that statement, Hawke ran his finger along the edge of the note, breaking the seal and unfolding the letter. It was short and to the point.

 _Hawke,_

 _Bethany will be in attendance as requested; she will be accompanied by a chaperone for the entirety of the night. This is not negotiable._

 _Consider our agreement now null and void._

 _Knight Captain Cullen_

He stared at it for a long time before a grin broke out over his face; he sprinted for the stairs, heading for his mother's room as he yelled "Mother! You'll never guess what news I have!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

The Gallows was silent, a dark, looming shadow against the star speckled sky. Lights burned in a handful of windows, and there were of course a few Knights still patrolling the halls to make sure no mage tried to creep from their room after hours.

It was late, _well_ past curfew, but at the moment smuggling Bethany past his own guards was the least of Cullen's problems. The night was dark, the sky moonless, and the soiree was not scheduled to start for another two hours, so time was not against them yet. Really, the biggest problem as far as he was concerned, was that he was ten types of a fool for even agreeing to this madness in the first place.

He paced in his room, debating for what felt like the hundredth time whether he should call this whole farce off; then his thoughts jumped straight to how disappointed Bethany would be if he told her now that she wasn't going. Then when he thought about Bethany, he couldn't help but wonder what she would be wearing, and then that ran straight into whether or not _he_ was dressed appropriately. He stopped in front of his mirror, tugging awkwardly at the cuffs of his formal Templar clothing; he'd debated whether it would be better to wear something more discreet, something that didn't seem to scream his rank to all and sundry, but what was the point? He was there as a guard, an escort to a mage who by rights should not be leaving the Gallows at all. They were lucky he didn't insist on full plate armour; he was only wearing his most basic leather jerkin under his tabard, hoping that he wouldn't come to regret it by the end of the night.

"One night," he muttered to himself, adjusting his gloves and straightening his cloak for the sixth time; he knew he was fussing needlessly, but he needed something to do with his hands. "One damned night and no more Garrett Hawke. One night and this nonsense will be put to rest."

He groaned as he caught sight of himself in the mirror: his hair was askew again. Had he been running his hands through it nervously and not noticed? He snatched his comb up and tried to fix it with short, jerky movements; after a few moments he gave up, and dropped the comb back onto his dresser.

Why the attack of nerves? He was going as a guard- in reality he should probably just stand quietly in the background, observing but not involving himself in the evening. It would be best that way; there was every probability that he might be able to overhear some interesting things, given the company that Garrett Hawke seemed to keep these days. He'd heard rumours that Hawke was more than interested in being sympathetic with the mages, so if there was the possibility that there would be apostates in attendance at the party he would have justified his entire reason for agreeing to this mess.

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself as he strapped on his sword belt, fidgeting with it until it sat comfortably over his hips. He wasn't nervous about the evening at all; no, he was just eager to have it over and done with, and curious to see what he might glean from the assembled guests. He wasn't nervous about being among Bethany's friends and family, seeing the scorn on their faces when they thought he wasn't looking. And he certainly wasn't nervous about seeing Bethany and trying to keep himself under control around her for an entire evening.

He moaned in frustration through gritted teeth and promptly ruined his hair again as he ran his hands over his head. He wasn't even fooling himself with his tirade, and he was the only one to hear it.

This evening was going to be a disaster.

He collected himself with effort and stepped out into the hallway, thankful that his leather boots made next to no noise as he hurried past Meredith's office. The light still burned beneath the door, and he could only hope she would be abed by the time he returned in the early hours of the morning. He had a myriad of excuses ready should she catch him, although it would help if he didn't feel like a green recruit sneaking back into the barracks after creeping into town for drinks. He was a Knight Captain, damn it, and it would help if he felt like one right now; instead it felt like he was deceiving his superior and betraying his oath by doing this.

He knew the night time patrols of the halls by heart, having written so many of the rosters himself in the last few years. As such he made it to the third floor with minimal interaction with anyone else, hurrying through the Enchanter's Wing until he reached her door. He rapped quickly on the door, calling out softly "Miss Hawke?"

There was a muffled reply, and the door slid open; she stuck her head around the frame and beckoned him in. "Inside, quickly," she said, closing the door behind him. "I'm not quite ready yet; do you mind just waiting a few minutes?"

It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter. "Take all the time you need," he said, somewhat awkwardly, trying not to stare as she rushed back to her mirror to attempt to finish pinning her hair. The dress she wore, a midnight blue affair, was clearly designed by demons to torment men- no human dressmaker would be able to design a garment that hung so perfectly against the slope of her back, or clung so lovingly to the curve of her hips. Sweet blood of the prophet, but those Circle robes hid an awful lot; he felt as if he'd be able to draw her shape from memory after seeing her in that figure hugging gown.

And he had to spend a whole evening with her looking like that. This was clearly a test from the Maker.

She bustled about for a few more minutes, until she finally deemed herself ready. The worst moment of all was when she pulled a tiny vial from her dresser and dabbed at her wrists and neck with it. The smell of honeysuckle and lyrium rolled towards him and he clenched his teeth from the fierce wave of desire that struck him; Bethany Hawke was clearly trying to kill him. She just didn't seem to realise it.

It was not as hard as he had imagined, getting her through the Gallows and down to the docks. They were not interrupted at all until they reached the portcullis that led down the steps to the pier below.

"Ho there," one of the Knights on patrol called out as they approached. "No one is to leave after- Knight Captain? Is that you?"

He steeled himself and gave them the haughtiest look he could manage. "I have business in the city," he said coldly. "Open the gate."

The two guards looked quickly to his companion and then back to him. They hesitated for only the briefest moment before the first one said "Of course, Knight Captain."

The trip across the harbour was uneventful; Bethany took a seat in the centre of the boat and hugged her arms to herself, huddling deeply within her coat as the night wind danced across the water. Despite the cold, her eyes were shining with excitement and it was damned well addictive, if the number of times he caught himself smiling was any indication. The docks, when they arrived on the far side of the harbour, were crowded with sailors and the dregs who had dragged themselves up from Darktown to visit the seedier taverns by the waterfront. Cullen kept her close, pulling his cloak open to reveal the Templar symbol embroidered into his tabard, and making sure his sword was _very_ visible to passers-by. Apart from the occasional shouted curse as they passed, they were lucky enough to avoid any violence.

The streets of Hightown were deserted, which made him even more uneasy than the crowded lower parts of the city, and he put a hand on her elbow out of instinct, his other coming to rest lightly on the hilt of his short sword. She gasped; she had clearly been off in her own little world, and his touch had startled her.

"I didn't mean to alarm you," he said, at the same time that she said "Oh, Maker, you gave me a fright."

They both stopped and smiled, eyes lingering on each other for a fraction longer than was necessary after sharing a joke. The sparkle in her eyes was intoxicating in the darkness, and he found himself leaning in a little towards her.

She sounded breathless when she quickly said "It's not much further now; just up near the Chantry."

The moment dissipated and he leaned back, berating himself fiercely for even allowing it to take place. He let her lead him through the winding streets, until the cobblestones became more even underfoot, and the trees that lined the road were well maintained and fenced off neatly. "Here we are," she said with a smile, leading him up the steps towards a stately looking manor that was ablaze with light. The sound of conversation drifted through a few open windows, as well as the strains of music. She nearly dashed up the last remaining steps and knocked firmly on the door.

The door swung open wide and Hawke was there, beaming from ear to ear. "Bethikins!" He threw his arms around her and danced her into the house, ignoring her protests that he was ruining her hair and creasing her dress.

"Garrett!" she squealed, pushing at him until he finally let her go. "What are you doing at the front door- aren't you supposed to have someone doing that for you now? Isn't that what this big extravagant waste of money is about? People are hardly going to take you seriously if you take their coats for them."

"If they don't take me seriously, I'll throw their coats into the fire," he quipped. He seemed to notice Cullen standing in the doorway and gave him a predatory smile. "Knight Captain! So good to see you! We're ever so glad you could see to it that Beth could make it to my birthday extravaganza."

Cullen nodded stiffly to him. "It was the least I could do," he said.

Hawke might have sneered slightly, but he wasn't sure. "Of course, of course." He clapped his hands together. "Now- but where are my manners? Can I take your coat?"

***

Garrett Hawke had done well for himself- _very_ well. The mansion that Bethany led him through was not insignificant in size, and to think that only two years previously the family had been crammed into a tiny hovel on the edge of the Lowtown slums made their elevation all that much more impressive.

It also gave him pause to think that this was the life that Bethany would have been living had she not been caught out and taken to the Gallows. She would have rubbed shoulders with the most powerful men and women in the Free Marches, and would undoubtedly have been pursued by more than a few of them. Who was he in comparison- a Templar Captain held a certain prestige, but it wasn't like he could compete with-

He shut down that train of thought as quickly as it started.

Bethany led him into a glorious ballroom, bedecked with glossy ferns and flower arrangements and lit with the light of what seemed like a thousand glowing candles. He glanced at her quickly, and her features in the soft light were so exquisite that he found himself lifting his hand to take her own, to get her attention so that he could pull her back towards him...

"Bethany!" The call came from the top end of the room, from the table just to the left of what was clearly the main table. A woman, dressed in the most scanty ensemble he had ever laid eyes on, had climbed onto her chair and was waving madly in their direction. Bethany gave a delighted cry and hurried forward, weaving through the crowd of party goers who had yet to take their seats at the various tables around the room.

"Bela!" she cried, throwing herself into the other woman's arms and hugging her fiercely. "Oh, Bela, I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Oh, little Sunshine, look at you!" The woman pulled away and held her at an arm's length, scrutinising her closely. "Well, didn't you just go and turn into a little heartbreaker. Now, tell mama Izzy, has anyone made you a woman yet?"

Cullen tried not to look stunned at the intimate nature of the question, near shouted in front of all the neighbouring tables, when he heard a woman sigh. "Now's hardly the time, Isabela," said a much more familiar voice. He looked past Bethany to see Aveline Vallen seated at the table; she raised her glass in greeting to him. "Knight Captain. I apologise that your introduction to our social circle had to begin in such a way. Please, ignore Isabela- the rest of us already do."

"Shut up, prig," the woman in question said, her eyes landing on him with wicked delight. "So Bethany landed herself an escort by the tastiest of the Templars? Mm, I am impressed. Well done, Sunshine."

Bethany was crimson from her neckline up. " _Bela_ ," she hissed, glancing at him and then quickly away. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Here, Knight Captain, this will be where we'll be sitting. Let me introduce you."

She went around the table, calling out names as she went, and he had to admit that Hawke kept a much more eclectic group of friends than he would have given him merit. An apostate Grey Warden, the Captain of the Guard, a pirate Captain, an escaped Tevinter slave, a surface dwelling dwarf... a slight frown creased his brow when Bethany introduced the woman at Anders' side, who had the lower half of her face covered by a silken veil. She murmured her greeting so softly that he almost couldn't hear her, and she never made eye contact with him; even so there was something familiar about her and he vowed to keep a close eye on her for the rest of the night. The Grey Warden was clearly her lover, and the way he leaned in close to murmur against her ear until she blushed was so shockingly intimate that he had to look away.

There was confusion for the next twenty minutes or so, as guests continued to arrive and swarm about mindlessly in the ballroom. Eventually Garrett entered and went to the head table, accompanied by his mother. Several important dignitaries were seated alongside them- the Viscount and his son and the Prince of Starkhaven among their number. Garrett raised his arms for silence and slowly the hubbub in the room died down to a dull murmur.

"I'm not one for tedious speeches," Hawke said, grinning widely, "so I'll get straight to the point. It is with great pleasure that I welcome you into my home, and I look forward to many more evenings where you can all come and drink your way through my wine cellar and my wallet. Now, happy birthday to me, let's get on with the fun!"

Hawke's words were met with a mixture of laughter and confusion, and caused no small degree of outrage amongst some of the older nobility present in the room. Cullen was seated between Bethany and the pirate Isabela, and he tried very hard not to listen to the heavy sexual innuendo that riddled her conversations around the table. He was desperately relieved when the first dishes arrived, and he put all of his attention into the food rather than the distraction of the woman at his right elbow. She did not seem to notice his discomfort, too busy catching up with friends who had clearly missed her desperately.

"Hey Rivaini," Varric said, indicating for Isabela to lean closer. The pirate leant across the table, smooshing her bosom against her forearms in a way that had to be deliberate from the way she smirked as she did it. "You know all the scrapper girls in this town; who's Silver Eyes over in the corner there?"

At his words a few more of Garrett's friends began to pay attention, twisting in their seats to see who he meant. "I don't see anyone with silver eyes," the little elf girl said; she looked like she would have climbed up on to her chair to survey the room if Isabela hadn't smiled and put her hand on her shoulder, pressing her back into her seat.

"Sitting next to Bran's son," Varric clarified. "She's not looking this way right now- the one with the white hair."

"What makes you think she's a rogue?" Bethany said, surprising him; he hadn't realised she'd been paying attention. Moments ago she'd been engrossed in conversation with Aveline.

Varric shrugged. "She's got the look of a scrapper- you can always tell." He turned back to Isabela. "So, Rivaini, any ideas?"

Isabela was frowning as she looked over at the woman, who was nodding politely to something the Seneschal's son was saying while her body language screamed ' _Get me away from here before I kill someone_ '. "I actually don't think I know her," she said finally, tilting her head as if changing the angle of her view would give her the answer she needed. "But does anyone else think she looks _really_ familiar?"

"That was why I asked," Varric said with a chuckle. "Be damned if I can place her, but I'm sure I know her from somewhere."

"Huh," Anders said, tilting his chair back on two legs to get a better look. "I would have said ' _maybe she's just got one of those faces_ ' but I see what you mean. There's just something about her that seems so memorable." He yelped in pain and his chair came crashing back down onto all four legs. The woman at his side, introduced earlier as Theresa, was eying him over the top of her half veil as he rubbed at the point where she'd pinched him on his ribs. "Don't you go getting jealous, woman. You should know by now you haven't got a single thing to worry about on that front love."

Her eyes softened at the endearment, and the mage leaned in closer to hear something she whispered, mysterious strangers quickly forgotten as they snatched a tender moment together. Feeling awkwardly like he was intruding, Cullen instead looked back to the woman that had captivated them all in the first place. Isabela and Varric were still debating her identity when she looked up to see them watching her- and her eyes were most definitely a startling shade of silver. She had a matching pair of dark tattoos swirling enigmatically over both of her cheeks.

"Ooh, I like her already," Isabela said brightly. "Women who aren't afraid to show a little ink are _sexy_."

She offered them a small smirk as her dinner companion continued in his elaborate tale, which now included outlandish hand gestures that had her ducking backwards more than once. When he wasn't looking at her, she winked quite deliberately at them and mouthed very clearly ' _save me_ '.

"Right, that's it," Isabela said, coming to her feet very suddenly. "Kitten, we just found our new best friend- and we must immediately save her from the perils of polite dinner conversation." She dragged Merrill from her chair and set off across the ballroom towards the silver eyed woman.

As Isabela insinuated herself onto the far table by sitting on the unsuspecting young man's lap, Bethany and her friends howled with laughter at the spectacle. Looking between them all, at the genuine warmth and affection that encompassed the table as they joked and smiled together, he felt a sudden pang of jealousy. He couldn't really say that he had friends, not in this manner. He had colleagues, other men and women of the Order who he respected deeply and could hold a conversation with when the need arose, but this camaraderie... he couldn't say he had anything that came even close.

"Cullen?" Bethany's soft query startled him and he glanced at her. She was sitting far too close, he decided, alarm tracking through him at her proximity. There was a tiny crease between her brows as she looked at him, eyes flickering over his face. Her hand came to rest over his and his pulse immediately skyrocketed. "Are you alright? You seem..."

He straightened. "I am perfectly fine, Miss Hawke," he said, berating himself for his cowardice as he hid behind formal titles again. "And even if I were not, it would not matter- I am not here to enjoy myself, I am here for the purpose of chaperoning you. Nothing more."

In the flickering light of the candles, it seemed like a much more grave crime that he had committed to see the sparkle in her eyes dim as severely as they did. "My apologies, Knight Captain," she said quietly, sitting back in her chair until there was a reasonable distance between them again. She folded her hands in her lap, looking every bit the demure, noblewoman that she would have been if she hadn't been taken to the Circle. "I'll try not to distract you from your duties."

Maker damn it; that look shouldn't send him into the shame spiral that it did. "Bethany," he said awkwardly, debating exactly how to explain himself, when a tall figure came to a stop before their table.

"Knight Captain," the Starkhaven Prince said, nodding politely to him; his smile widened tellingly as he looked to his companion. "Miss Bethany- you are looking lovely tonight, if I may say so."

Bethany smiled warmly at him, and Cullen was overcome with the urge to send the fool on his way. "Sebastian," she said, her friendly tone and the use of his first name setting his hackles on end. "It is so good to see you again. I had no idea Garrett had planned to invite you- I certainly would have said hello earlier had I known."

"Ah, he was quite insistent," he said, sweeping an arm out to encompass the room. "He does, after all, seem to hold me responsible for your family's elevation in society. Maker knows why- the pitiful fee I was able to pay him canno' have been that substantial in comparison to everything else he did before his Deep Roads adventure."

She shook her finger at him. "Now, now, Sebastian, I'll not have you belittling what you did for us. Had I not been otherwise occupied-" She said this wryly, with a quick glance towards Cullen who sat stonily at her side "-I would have chased you down to heap praises upon you."

Cullen had a very strong desire to beat the Prince senseless in that moment.

Sebastian smiled indulgently at her. "Ah, Bethany, but we cannot have our beautiful young ladies chasing us poor gentlemen down; it simply isn't done that way in polite circles. It is your duty to sit and make _us_ bring the chase to _you_."

She giggled and blushed prettily, tucking a loose strand of hair back into place. "Sebastian, you jest, surely. If we waited for our gentlemen to make the first move, we ladies would be bent with age by the time you worked up the courage to even say hello."

Maybe it was just the madness that was gripping him in that moment, but he could have sworn she glanced sideways at him as she spoke. Was she... did she _want_ him to chase her? Did she just expect that he would abandon his vows for her? Maker, but he was sorely tempted. The music and the candles and the spiced wine and the faint hint of her perfume- it was all too much. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again immediately. He battled his desire for her, his longing just as powerful as his desire to stay true to his duties. He opened his mouth again, trying desperately to think of what to say.

Sebastian beat him to it. " _Hello_ , Bethany," he drawled, his brogue thicker than it had been a moment ago as the rake he used to be surfaced briefly. "And would you look at that- you don't look a day over twenty one."

Bethany laughed again, the sound twisting in his gut like a knife; the knowledge that she was inviting the flirtations of another man made him seethe, but what could he do? He had no claim on her; _no_ , he corrected himself, he didn't _want_ to make any claim on her. He was a Templar- she was a mage. Not only was it forbidden, but he did not like mages. _At all_. Certainly not dark eyed, dark haired mages with bright souls.

"You are quite the silver tongue when you want to be, your Highness," she said with a smile. "And here I would have thought that the Chantry would have gotten that out of you by now."

He winked at her, and Cullen felt his fingernails dig into the armrests of the chair as he fought the sudden spike in his temper. "We could write entire books on all the things the Chantry is yet to get out of me," he said. He looked over his shoulder as the musicians broke into a much more lively tune than any of the others they had been playing recently. "One of which is my love of dance. If I might impose terribly, could I trouble you? I seem to be lacking a partner."

"I would love to!" she said in delight, climbing to her feet. At the last moment she seemed to remember Cullen, turning to him with those wide eyes pleading. "That is, if it's not too sinister? I can hardly attempt to escape in the middle of a crowded dance floor."

"You have my deepest commitment to getting her safely back to your side in a song or two," Sebastian said smoothly, taking Bethany's hand and guiding her around the table. "Surely you have no objection, Knight Captain?"

From between gritted teeth, he said "None whatsoever." He waved towards the middle of the ballroom, which was quickly filling with pairs matching up into squares for the start of the cotillion. "Please, enjoy yourselves."

Bethany was sparkling with a joyful energy as she took her place on the dance floor, and as the music began she laughed as she fumbled the first few steps; he could hear the sound of it wash over him. He had never heard her laugh like that before, so full of delight and happiness that it didn't seem possible for one person to contain it all within them. She hardly even _smiled_ in his presence, and here she was, dancing with rapturous abandon with another man, laughing and smiling and flirting like any other young woman her age should be.

"You know, if you keep that up, you're going to have to buy Hawke a new chair," a voice said, disturbingly close to his ear. He jerked to the side, startled to see the pirate woman, Isabela, had climbed into the chair next to him and dragged it absurdly close. She smiled wickedly at him.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said stiffly.

She chuckled, the sound sultry. "Poppet, you are _shredding_ that chair in your very manly fit of jealousy. Don't get me wrong, it's the sexiest thing ever to have two men fighting over you, but I don't think our little Sunshine noticed."

He glanced down, alarmed to see her words were true; he had indeed gouged grooves into the arm of the chair with his nails. Very deliberately, he unclenched his hands and laid his palms flat against the wood, hiding the evidence of his momentary stupidity. "You are mistaken, madam, if you think my mood has anything to do with Miss Hawke. I am simply tense at the situation- taking a mage from the safety of the Gallows is never a sensible thing to do."

"And yet you did it anyway," she said, tapping her finger against her chin thoughtfully. "That hardly seems like a _sensible_ thing for a _sensible_ Knight Captain to do. Makes one wonder what the driving factor was behind your decision."

"I owed Garrett Hawke a favour; this is how he chose to redeem it. It is as simple as that."

She laughed and leant in closer. "Oh, honey, there is nothing _simple_ about the way you're staring at our Beth," she said delightedly. "I mean, just look at her."

Against his better judgement, his eyes sought her out again in the crowded dance floor. She was stunning, lit up from within with joy and laughter and merriment. Her cheeks were flushed from the fast pace of the dance, and her hair was slipping a little from her pins; her skirt swirled around her, revealing a hint of her calves as she spun back to her partner. There was just such an intense vivacity to her that he had never seen before and he couldn't look away from her.

"Now _that_ ," the pirate whispered in his ear, "is the look of a man who has seen something that he desperately wants to claim for himself. And who could blame you? She's all grown up now, a woman just aching for a man to come along and show her how beautiful she really is. And yet she's locked up in that terrible tower, with no one around... _except you_."

His breathing was loud even to his own ears as he stood up hurriedly, knocking his own chair over in the process. The clatter drew a few curious eyes, but they all looked away after a moment. "I..." He struggled to centre himself, to bring himself back from the precipice that her wicked words had pushed him towards. "I think I am in need of some fresh air," he said finally, before stalking from the room towards the balcony.

Maker preserve him: he wasn't even safe when there _weren't_ demons around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**

The chill in the night air was a shock, after the cloying warmth of the crowded ballroom and the flush of heat in his own skin, and he shivered. Whether it was from the cold, or from the wild fire that still pulsed through his veins, he couldn't tell. Didn't really _want_ to tell, all things considered; because that would mean he'd have to stop and think about just how affected he was by the suggestions that the pirate woman had planted in his head.

This whole evening was a terrible, wretched, Maker cursed idea. Right now she could be fleeing through the servant's entrance and out into the night, or even out the damned front door, and he wouldn't know because he was cowering like a coward on the terrace. And then how would he explain that to Knight Commander Meredith? _She got away because I took her to a ball, and when the wine and the dancing and her damned, clinging dress became too much I ran and hid._ Splendid; he probably wouldn't even be given time to collect his meagre possessions from his room before they threw him out on his face- if they didn't have him executed for his act of sedition. Which, in all fairness, he wouldn't really be surprised if Meredith chose that option; she had become remarkably suspicious in the last twelve months, given the sharp increase in mage escapes and attacks.

It was such an absurd situation- a knight as highly ranked as the Captain, second only to the Commander in terms of authority and power, had no business fraternizing with a mage. He shouldn't even talk to her in the _Gallows_ , let alone escort her to parties in _Hightown_ and then proceed to ogle her like a randy youth.

He paced up and down the marble tiles, wondering if he shouldn't just flee into the dark garden below. He might find quiet and a chance to soothe his battered soul, but it was hardly the smartest thing to do; he had to stay somewhat close to Bethany, even if it was driving him utterly mad to do so.

"Many are those who wander in sin," he muttered under his breath as he paced, trying desperately to distract himself from the knowledge that in the next room, she danced and laughed and sparkled with all the passion of a- "Despairing that they are lost forever," he said, much louder than the first line of the verse, trying to ignore the waver in his voice. "But the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world-"

... _In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all-consuming and never satisfied..._

He nearly staggered as the Chant drifted through his head, immediately conjuring every erotic fantasy he'd been desperately trying to subdue in the last few hours. _Maker take it all_ , that wasn't even a _suggestive_ Chant- it was supposed to be about the creation of the human race, and their longing for the Fade! Wrong Canticle, wrong meaning, wrong _everything_ , but the images were there now and he couldn't make them stop.

What would it be like if he marched back into that room and snatched her away from her dance partner- all the better if it was that smirking pious-when-he-wanted-to-be fool Sebastian Vael- and dragged her into _his_ arms, pulling her willowy curves flush against _his_ body as the music swelled around them and the background faded away until it was just the two of them, entwined together on the dance floor? Her lips would part on a gasp as he tugged her closer, one hand on her hip that could slide round to the small of her back while the other trapped her dainty fingers between his. She would see the determination in his gaze, the unexpressed promise and her own eyes- Blessed Andraste, those eyes would be the death of him- would widen, flooded with a nervous longing that would leave him weak at the knee. Her lip would tremble; she would bite down gently to try and hide the small quiver, but it would only draw his attention faster. They would be so close that he would feel her breath on his jaw, hot and shallow as she fought to breathe properly; her pulse would be fluttering wildly, the gentle tattoo in her veins thrumming against his wrist as he clutched her hand tighter.

And, _oh_ , they would dance. It would be a promise, a hint, a desperate unspoken oath of all that was to follow. The rhythm of two bodies, working in concert to find perfection, with the other couples on the dance floor oblivious to the magnitude of what was taking place in their midst. There would be so much said, even though no words would be spoken between them, and nothing could intrude upon them in that moment. There would be no duties to recall, no Gallows or mages or Templars or protective older brothers- it would just be the two of them, two people finding each other for the first time as the music soared around them. And as the music soared to a crescendo, he would pull her closer still, until there was no space between them, until he could feel all of her warmth and softness pressed tightly against him, as it should be, _as it always would be-_

Reality intruded in the form of a burst of applause from the room behind him, and for one bewildered, panicked moment he thought the clapping came as a result of his lascivious thoughts. He struggled to reign in his scattered thoughts, and the uncontrolled desire that threatened to overwhelm him, as the applause died down and the music began to play again. He could hear the rumble of conversation starting, the shifting of feet in the vast room beyond, and he latched onto that, trying to bring himself back from the brink with a reminder of how close he stood to a very large number of very important people. It wouldn't do for the Templar Captain to be seen in such a state; he had to think of the respectability of the Order, of his duties and his vows.

"This is an ill-advised infatuation," he told himself firmly, as his mood plummeted. How had he allowed himself to get so caught up in such a ridiculous fantasy in the first place? It spoke of the weakness in his character, and it was weakness that had seen him near driven mad and tormented by dark fiends in the past. He could not be so foolish as to allow it to happen again. "There are greater things in this world than a pair of pretty eyes."

He leant heavily on the balcony railing, hoping that the spring chill in the air would calm his temper. The chances of that however were almost non-existent; he had come out here in the first place to cool the fever in his blood spiked by Isabela's taunting words, and look how poorly that had ended.

"Cullen?"

He stiffened at the sound of that sweetly familiar voice, abruptly furious that she would follow him while he was so conflicted like this. He hadn't even heard the terrace door open, and yet here she was; he could hear her soft footsteps as she crossed the wide marble balcony towards him. He stared firmly at the dark shadows of the garden below them, refusing to look up at her as she came to a stop beside him at the balustrade. The scent of her perfume, honeysuckle and lyrium, was all around him in the air, and he just stopped himself from inhaling deeply.

This was not how it should be. Why had she followed him from the party, alone, with that soft concern in her voice? Everything about this moment made him want to curse bitterly. It should be a lover, or a wife, coming to talk him down from his anger with soothing words and a gentle touch; instead it was the one woman he could never touch, no matter how badly he wanted to these days. The fact that she was _here_ , that she had sought him out instead of staying amongst friends and family, was terrifying in his current state of mind.

"Cullen, what are you doing out here?" she said, stepping closer when he didn't answer her the first time. She had a shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders, hiding the pale glow of her skin in the starlight and the gentle swell of her curves in the daring neckline. He didn't hate that shawl at all- not one bit.

She put her hand over his on the railing, her fingers closing around his as she said softly "Cullen?"

Alright, he had to be honest. He'd never hated an item of clothing before in his life; right now he wanted to rip that damnable shawl from her and hurl it into the wind. He wanted to turn his hand up from where it clutched fiercely at the railing and tangle his fingers with hers, to see if her hand was really as soft and fragile as it looked. Maker, but he just kept coming up with terrible ideas tonight.

"Go back to your brother's party, Miss Hawke," he said stiffly, fighting back the very strong part of him that decried such a suggestion, and wanted to beg her to stay. "It isn't seemly for a young woman to be alone in the company of an unmarried man."

He heard her breath catch, then she laughed nervously. "I doubt anyone will be thinking such things about the two of us, of all people. Garrett's friends are providing a much more vivid spectacle than we could ever hope to achieve."

He felt a surge of irritation at her reckoning that nobody would suspect the two of them. Did that mean that she herself didn't think there was any possibility of scandal occurring? Ignoring the voice in his head that insisted it could only be a _good_ thing for her to think that way, he said "And why would nobody suspect the two of us of scandalous intent?"

She didn't laugh this time, and the hand placed over his was suddenly holding much tighter than it had a moment ago; he wondered if she knew she was doing it. "It's... not that I'm saying people _wouldn't_ suspect, it's just... well, you're the Knight Captain and I'm... I'm a _mage_ , and it's not normally the sort of thing that one, um, _implicates_ the Captain of the Templars of-"

"I am a man; you are a woman." And Maker, did he know it after tonight. "There is potential there enough to fuel the gossips. Please, Miss Hawke, return to the party; I would not have the evening marred by slurs against your good character."

It was then that her thumb began to run gently along the side of his hand, a gesture that should have been soothing and was obviously intended as such; it had the opposite effect on him. He tried not to let the breath hiss from him as that small, seemingly insignificant touch raised all manner of hell with his crumbling resistance to her.

"Why don't you come back inside with me?" she suggested softly. "If you are worried about what people might think, then surely you are concerned how it must look for you to be out here on your own?"

He gritted his teeth. "I will join you in a few minutes, Miss Hawke, have no fear. I simply needed some air."

She was silent for a very long moment. "Then I will stay with you," she finally said, her tone resilient. "I did not realise how uncomfortable such a gathering would make you; I would never have asked for this if I had known."

Cullen glanced over at her then and his heart skipped a few beats. Her eyes were infinitely dark in the gloom of the night, but they sparkled all the same. Her skin was flushed from the dancing and her hair was slipping loose of its coiffure, but despite looking less than composed, she looked all the more radiant for it. She practically _glowed_ under the stars and he caught himself leaning towards her. "I am not uncomfortable with the gathering, Miss-"

"We can go home, if you would prefer," she said quickly; he felt an odd thrill of satisfaction in hearing her say ' _home_ ', as if it were a place shared by just the two of them. _Maker's Breath, man, stop doing this to yourself!_ "To the Gallows, I mean. You've fulfilled your obligation to Garrett, and you never agreed how long I had to be here for. And I do wish you'd call me Bethany; there's no need for-"

"There is every need, Miss Hawke," he said suddenly, dragging his gaze away from her with great effort. "For if I do not maintain myself when it is just the two of us, how shall I remember when we are in the company of others?"

His ruthless words must have touched a nerve, for she carefully withdrew her hand from his. He immediately mourned the loss, but it was better this way. That is, until he felt her hand on his shoulder, smoothing down his back in a way that was supposed to offer comfort.

"What's wrong, Cullen?" she whispered, her voice tremulous. "I have tried so hard not to offend you. I know that you aren't fond of mages, but I had hoped at least that we might be friends by now."

The timid, almost frightened way that she spoke had his anger spiking even higher. How _dare_ she be uneasy around _him_ , of all people, and how dare he drive her to that point in the first place? "We are not friends, Bethany," he snapped, turning quickly to grab her hand away from his back. "And _stop touching me_."

She made some small noise of alarm and her eyes widened at the turn in his temper. She tried to pull her hand from his, but he tightened his grip on her. He kept turning her until she was trapped, caught between him and the balustrade, their hands pressed between them.

Her breathing was shallow as she glanced from his face to their hands and back up again. "Knight Captain," she said carefully, "I thought you asked me to stop touching you."

 _Maker, what is this madness? End this foolishness, now!_ "I asked you to stop touching me," he said, crowding her further, until she was nearly perched on the railing. "I never said anything about me touching _you_."

Her eyes widened even further, and the heat radiating off of her was magnificent. "Knight Captain," she began, then changed her mind. " _Cullen_. What are...? I don't think this is the best idea."

He nearly snarled at her carefully worded objection. "You don't think _what_ is the best idea? Do you have a paramour in the other room? In the Gallows?"

Bethany felt heat pooling in her stomach at the possessive way he growled the question. "No," she moaned softly.

Cullen stepped closer still, caging her, until their bodies were pressed together, only broken by their entwined fingers. "And do you object to _my_ suite?"

Her breath was coming so desperately fast that she wondered why she didn't faint. "No," she whispered.

He didn't answer, but there was a flare of jealous triumph in his eyes as his other hand came up to her face, ghosting over her neck with the barest whisper of touch. She nearly whimpered at the heat of his palm as he cradled her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin ever so lightly until she shivered.

He leant in towards her, halving the distance between them- and then he hesitated. She wanted to scream in frustration, her entire body on an edge that was desperate and hot and needy; she did whimper then, and his eyes widened; she was alarmed to see clarity creeping back into his gaze, and what looked like panic.

She hardly dared to move, terrified that any one simple thing would send him fleeing in the opposite direction. " _Cullen_ ," she whispered, trying to fill one word with all the soothing, gentle longing that she felt in that moment. She just prayed it wouldn't be so much that it would scare him off.

His eyes dropped back to her lips. " _Bethany_." She nearly moaned at the way he said her name, then wanted to stamp her feet in frustration when he _still_ hesitated. Their breath mingled in the closeness of the moment, and she thought that she might explode with the intense, burning need that raged through her. Never had she experienced something so fragile, and so intimate; it felt like the smallest thing could shatter them both like glass.

The thing that shattered it was not so small.

The words were faint, drifting down from above and at first she thought it was just a particularly loud conversation coming from the ballroom. Then she began to make out the words- and she stiffened in alarm at the same time that Cullen did.

"Kiiiiiiiss heeeer," sang the voice quietly; the owner of the voice was clearly not expecting to be overheard, assuming them to be lost in each other. "Just a liiittle closer now."

Cullen uttered a curse that made her gasp and tore himself away from her as if she were the most vile fiend in the depths of the Void.

Above them, there was the sound of a painful impact against bared flesh.

"Ow!"

"Idiot! They heard you! I told you to keep your whore mouth shut!"

Bethany, near close to tears from the thwarted emotions that bubbled ruthlessly inside of her, dared to look up. Isabela, Varric and the silver eyed rogue were hanging out of an upstairs window, grinning knowingly at them.

"Would you two mind very much just posing again?" Varric said, holding up a piece of paper. "I wasn't quite done sketching yet."

Isabela was rubbing her upper arm and wincing, but her smirk was in no way small. "Don't mind us, Sunshine! You just go back to what you were doing, mama Izzy won't bother you. Although I can offer you some tips if you'd like?"

Cullen cursed again, his eyes dark with fury, and stalked towards the terrace doors.

"Cullen," she choked, reaching out towards him desperately, even though he was already beyond her grasp.

He hesitated for a brief moment before he opened the door. "Please inform me when you are ready to depart from the dinner, Miss Hawke," he said coldly, before letting himself back into the ballroom and slamming the door behind him.

Bethany let out a broken sob and dropped to her knees.

"Oh, look what you've done now," the unfamiliar voice said.

"Oh, Sunshine, don't cry!" Isabela sounded genuinely upset. "Look, we're just upstairs in the library, do you want to come on up?"

Varric chuckled. "That sounds like the opening of a joke. Three rogues walk into a library..."

"I'm surprised Garrett has a library," the unfamiliar voice said again. "In fact, I'm surprised he even knows how to _read_."

"How do you know Hawke, again?" Varric was saying. "I think you said earlier, but I missed it."

"From around," she said cryptically.

There was the crunch of boots landing on the terrace, and Bethany looked up from her crouch, her vision blurred by tears. Isabela had jumped down from the window and stooped down beside her; her eyes were gentle as she said "There, there, Sunshine, it's not that bad, is it?"

Bethany choked back a particularly harsh sob. "I've never even been _kissed_ before," she whispered distraughtly. "And he was... _Cullen_."

"Aw, Beth," Isabela said, drawing the younger woman into her arms. Bethany wept against her shoulder. "Don't worry, poppet, there's plenty more fish in the sea- and if you're desperate for your first kiss, I'm happy to oblige." Bethany's tears didn't even falter at her half-hearted attempt at humour. Isabela sighed. "Come on then, sweet thing; let's get you good and drunk. Nothing soothes a broken heart more than copious amounts of alcohol."

***

"Knight Captain."

Cullen looked up from the table, surprised to see Leandra Hawke standing nearby; he made his excuses to Aveline and Fenris and stood, bowing politely to her. "Mistress Hawke," he said, then hesitated. "Or should that be Lady Hawke, now that your son has been reinstated?"

She smiled slightly, though the gesture didn't quite meet her eyes. "Please, I would be happy to have you call me Leandra. Tell me, are you enjoying yourself this evening?"

Now that was a trap if ever he saw one. "This has been a pleasant diversion from my usual tasks, yes," he said carefully. "I have been honoured to have been a guest in your home."

She nodded and indicated for him to follow her further away from the other guests. When she turned back to him, there was an icy spark in her eyes. "And my daughter? Is she a pleasant diversion from your usual tasks, Knight Captain?"

 _Maker_ ; he had hoped to avoid any kind of confrontation this evening. In the long, excruciating hour that had passed since the disastrous nearly kiss on the terrace, he had managed to bring himself back under some semblance of control. He had returned to the table and distracted himself with polite conversation with the Tevinter slave turned mercenary and the Captain of the Guard, surprised to find their views mirrored his on many topics. He had even managed to forget for brief periods of time how remarkable Bethany had felt pressed tightly up against him, and how her warmth and her softness had been everything he had fantasized about and more.

He had not seen her since then, but it didn't send him into the panic that it should have; he knew she wouldn't attempt to run away. She was far too honourable and honest for such a cowardly act. It disturbed him no end to know that he felt nothing but fierce certainty when he pondered after her; he didn't want to know her that well, that intimately.

Choosing his words carefully, he said "Your daughter is delightful company, Leandra."

"Obviously," she said coldly, as if he were utterly dense not to have said so in the first place. "And since she is such delightful company, perhaps you'd care to do your duty and join her in the library?"

He blinked. "Ma'am?" he said hesitantly; surely Leandra could not be telling him to have at her daughter... surely not.

"My daughter is currently squirreled away with some of Garrett's more... questionable acquaintances, and not only is she very, _very_ upset, she is also very, very drunk. I would rather the other guests and in particular my son do not see her in such a state."

His stomach twisted sickeningly; not just at the thought of Bethany in such a state, but also at the thought of Garrett finding her that way. Hawke had reiterated his colourful threats on far too many occasions for him to just write them off as insubstantial talk. "I see," he said uncomfortably.

"I don't think you do, Knight Captain," Leandra murmured, casting a critical eye over him. "Please see my daughter home safely to the Gallows, before word gets out over her condition. I would prefer to spare her the shame such an incident might cause."

She gave him directions to the library on the second floor, and with a heavy heart and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he made his way up the stairs.

Maker, how could this evening get any worse?


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV**

The hours had crept by without his noticing; it had to be close to one o'clock in the morning, and the party had definitely descended into what could politely be described as a shambles. He came across a few locked doors from behind which rather telling giggles emerged, and there was even a gentleman slumped in the upstairs hallway, snoring loudly with a flask upended on the runner. Cullen stepped carefully over him, nose wrinkled in mild disgust; this type of senseless indulgence sickened him and it made him abruptly relieved to know he would be leaving very shortly.

He found the library in short order, but his hand hesitated as he reached for the doorknob. What would he find when he went in there?

Steeling himself, he opened the door- admittedly more forcefully than necessary- and stepped into the room. He kept his face neutral as he surveyed the scene set before them.

There were half a dozen empty bottles scattered across the floor, and the four of them were playing a card game- although what card game could possibly involve removing items of clothing, he didn't want to know. Isabela was still relatively composed, missing only her bandana and a scarf; Varric had shucked his coat and his waistcoat, leaving him in an expensive silk shirt and no breeches. The other woman, he didn't know, but she had lost a great deal more than the first two, sitting only in her small clothes as she scrutinised her cards with extreme care.

But he hardly saw any of that, his gaze instead locking instantly on Bethany- who was sitting on the settee in only a very short, _very_ sheer lace slip. Her midnight dress had been thrown haphazardly over the back of the lounge, and she was also staring intensely at her cards.

At his entrance, the four of them looked up; the grin that broke out over Bethany's face told him exactly how much she'd had to drink. "Cullen's here!" she said, standing up as if she meant to dash to his side- and then promptly falling over, landing in the middle of the discarded cards and coins while the others laughed uproariously.

Maker. "What have you done to her?" he snapped furiously.

Isabela laughed heartily. "Nothing that a cold bath and a tonic won't cure, Knight Celibate... I mean Knight Captain." Varric and the other woman crowed with laughter, as if it was the most hilarious thing they had ever heard. "She'll be fine- she's just enjoying herself... since you don't seem to want to help her in that regard."

He gritted his teeth and went to snap some spiteful answer, but then Bethany managed to stagger to her feet again, and he found himself quite without words.

"Maker," he choked, staring at the flimsy garment and the way he could just make out the outline of- "Get her back into her dress," he snarled, turning his back immediately.

The laughter taunted him still. "What's wrong, Knight Captain? Scared of a little pleasures of the flesh?"

He bit his tongue to try and bring the roiling emotions under control. "Leandra has asked me to take Bethany home before you allow her to embarrass herself further. Unless you wish to upset the lady of the household, I suggest you get her back into that dress so that I can take her away."

"Spoilsport," Isabela muttered behind him. "Fine then- come here Bethikins. Mama Izzy has to lace you up again."

"I've always wondered why women's fashions had to be so complicated," Varric mused. "The whole point of a dress like that is that you want to get someone _out_ of it- adding more laces and buttons slows that process down immensely."

"Adds to the suspense," the other woman said. "It's more fun the longer it takes. Draws it out."

"I'd say by the way he's clenching his fists over there that our significant friend does not approve of our conversation." The dwarf chuckled. "Ah, now there's suspense for you. Nothing draws a romance out longer than ' _I can't touch you because I promised a man in the sky that I wouldn't_ '."

"Watch your tongue, dwarf," Cullen spat. "That's blasphemous."

Isabela snorted. "Oh yes, let's all talk about religion. How delightfully droll." There was a final rustle of fabric and then he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Isabela standing there with Bethany; the younger woman's eyes were glazed and her smile was still as wide as it had been a moment before. "She's all yours," Isabela said, shoving her towards him.

He spun to catch her at the last minute, and Bethany giggled as his arms came up her sides to steady her. "How much has she had to drink?" he asked, reluctant to hear the answer.

"Enough," Isabela said with a smile. She made a shooing motion. "Now, don't you have somewhere to be? Off with you!"

Fighting the urge to groan, Cullen took a step towards the door. "Come on then, Bethany." She promptly wavered on her feet and looked as if she were about to teeter over. He snatched at her again. "Bethany?"

"She can't _walk_ all the way to the docks," the white haired woman said, tutting as if he were incredibly dense. "She's far too drunk for that. You'll have to carry her."

Blessed Andraste, was this some kind of plot against him? He looked down at Bethany, who was smiling absently; he stepped away from her and she immediately began to tilt alarmingly. He grabbed at her and quickly pulled her upright again.

The three rogues were making a great show of ignoring them, returning to their card game with gusto. He fought the urge to sigh.

Scooping her up into his arms, he gritted his teeth when Bethany immediately slid her hands around his neck and snuggled into him. He walked towards the door, ignoring the chorus of ' _goodnights_ ' that were far too smug and suggestive for his peace of mind.

He found his way back downstairs easy enough, but then decided it would be better to take a side entrance rather than marching out the front door. If Leandra didn't want Bethany seen in this state, it was better for them to slip away into the night unnoticed. Judging the kitchens to be the safest bet to find a door, he set off in the most likely direction through the manor.

Ahead of them, one of the doors burst open and there was a flurry of clothing and a tangle of limbs that came tumbling into the hallway. He slammed to a halt, gobsmacked at the sheer audacity of the couple who fell from the room, blind to everything else around them except each other. It was the Grey Warden and his veiled lover, who was quite definitely _not_ veiled at that moment as the mage pushed her up against the wall of the corridor with a possessive growl. At the way they set upon each other with wild abandon and without shame, Cullen immediately looked at the roof while his cheeks burned; now he'd have to find another way to the kitchens, because he _certainly_ wasn't going to try creeping past a couple well on their way to _in flagrante delicto_.

Bethany noticed his hesitation and lifted her head from his shoulder, looking around blearily until she noticed the source of his discomfort. She grinned lecherously and laughed, calling "Ooh, Tahlie! You get him!"

The couple broke their kiss at the interruption, but didn't let go of one another; she giggled and buried her face in his chest- but not before Cullen had a chance to spot the horrific scarring on her cheeks that was clearly the reason for her veil-, while Anders snapped his gaze around to them with a wildly possessive growl, his smile smug but predatory.

"Well, darling," he said, breath panting from between his lips; his words were clearly directed at the woman in his arms even though he stared darkly at Cullen and Bethany, "I'd say that makes it time for our exit."

He bent at the knee quickly and threw her over his shoulder, grinning like a maniac at her delighted shrieks. Cullen was both horrified and intrigued by the display, and unknowingly clutched Bethany tighter to him, as if that would shield her from the shameless performance. As Anders set off down the hallway, he heard the woman giggle again and say "The cellars! Go through the cellars, it's faster!"

Cullen stood dumbstruck as they disappeared into the distance, searching for something even vaguely appropriate to say. "Why is Tahlie short for Theresa?" he finally said, settling for the most inoffensive part of the last five minutes as he started off towards the kitchens again.

"Mm?" Bethany said drowsily, resting her head on his shoulder again. "Oh, Tahlie? It's not, her real name is Tahlindra. We just call her Theresa in public to keep her safe."

Alarm bells went off in his head; perhaps this evening wouldn't be a waste of time after all. "And who are you keeping her safe from, exactly?" It would only be fitting if the apostate Grey Warden had been protecting another apostate with his bold arrogance in the Gallows so long ago.

"Her sister," Bethany said with a yawn, nuzzling in closer to his neck; he tried not to let her hear his quick inhale and tried to keep his arms from tightening around her. "Her sister's a mage in Tevitner... Tevinter, that's better; she tortured her, so Tahlie ran away. Anders protects her 'cause he loves her."

Well, that last part wasn't hard to deduce, given their display a few moments earlier, but the rest... "Why would she choose to be with a mage after another mage tortured her?" He didn't mean for the question to come out that way, and the moment the words left his lips he could have cursed himself for a fool. He certainly wasn't intending for it to mirror his own situation, but the question was there now, hanging between them intangibly.

Bethany chuckled, the sound vibrating through him. "You can't choose who you fall in love with, silly Cullen. You just have to hope that the love you feel trumps any fear you have. That's the best you can do."

He blinked in surprise and looked down at the top of her head. "That was... surprisingly thoughtful for someone so intoxicated."

She giggled and tightened her arms around his neck; her fingers were toying with the few untameable curls at the edge of his hair. "I'm not sooo drunk," she said, immediately proving her own words false. Maker, he had driven her to this; if only he had done his duty and ignored her, rather than allowing things to escalate as they had, she would have enjoyed a pleasant evening with her family and they could have gone home afterwards, still as polite yet aloof acquaintances.

"Please don't touch me like that, Miss Hawke," he said stiffly, finally finding the kitchens and ducking out of the servant's entrance.

She harrumphed unhappily, but her fingers fell away from their teasing. He breathed a sigh of relief and told himself very firmly that he did not miss the feel of them under any circumstances.

The trip through Hightown and then Lowtown seemed to last for eternity. At one point her fingers started to play again, but she must have been lucid enough to catch herself in the act, for they stopped soon after. She hummed quietly at one point, occasionally giggling, and the sound of both raised havoc with his self-control. She was just so warm and soft and so damned close right now; he had a feeling anything she did would have tested him to the limit.

There was a sloop waiting for them down in the harbour and he boarded it gratefully, breathing a sigh of relief as the little ship pushed away from the pier and set out towards the Gallows. He carefully deposited Bethany on the single bench, unhooking her arms from around his neck with difficulty; she seemed more than a little reluctant to let go. Maker, why had he pushed her so far; why had he pushed _himself_ so far? She clearly expected that certain physical intimacies were completely acceptable between the two of them, and that _had_ to stop.

He paced slowly up and down the deck, watching Kirkwall drift away from them. The water in the bay was choppy, a wind whipping up little white crests on the waves, and more than once he had to reach out to steady himself. Taking time away from her was beginning to steady his out of control desires, and he began to breathe a little easier.

Soon this whole wretched evening would be at an end. It couldn't come soon enough.

He became aware of sounds behind him, and turned a little at the sound. Bethany had shed her cloak, and had stood up, wavering a little on her feet as she tried to adjust to the pitching of the deck. The dress clung to her so lovingly, and she was silhouetted by the lights of the city so perfectly, leaving next to nothing to the imagination. No, that wasn't true, there was an exceptionally large amount that he could imagine that the dress seemed determined to hint at but not reveal fully.

"What are you doing, Bethany?" he said, stepping towards her. She skittered away from him, a flash of anger in her face.

"I am _walking_ ," she said fiercely; she then proceeded to illustrate as such, by strutting along the deck with the most delightful roll to her hips-

He blinked and caught a hold of himself. "Bethany, you should sit down. It's not safe to be walking around in the dark."

She sashayed wildly up and down the railing and made quite a show of ignoring him; he groaned and lifted his eyes to the sky as if the divine intervention he hoped for would be waiting for him when he looked up. "Bethany, _please_ sit down. You're not in your right mind."

She spun to face him, teetering slightly as she struggled not to overbalance. "I am completely in my right mind," she said loudly, the volume of her voice still proving her wrong.

The water was choppy, and he had to grab for the railing to keep his own balance. " _Bethany_. This behaviour is not seemly; you should sit down-"

She made a disparaging noise and leant heavily against the side of the boat. "What is the point of seemly behaviour, my dear Knight Captain? It's not like my being seemly will ever change who or what I am." She threw her arms out widely. "For I am Bethany Hawke, mage extraordinaire and-"

Whatever else she was, he would never find out. They hit a particularly heavy wave that had him staggering. He heard a startled shriek and when he looked up, the place where Bethany had recently stood was _empty_.

It took a few moments for the shock to fade enough for him to realise what had happened. Horror flooded through him as he searched the dark water for some trace of her.

"Oh, Maker preserve us," he muttered, shouting over his shoulder "Woman overboard! Bring the boat back around."

He shucked his coat and dove over the railing and into the black water of the harbour, gasping from the cold as he broke the surface. He could hear Bethany splashing about wildly and he powered through the water towards her with clean, strong strokes. It occurred to him then that he suddenly had a reason to be thankful he had foregone his plate armour, or even his mail; either of those and he'd be headed straight for the bottom of the harbour. In the lull between two waves he spotted her and lunged for her, snagging her cloak with his fingers and dragging her towards him.

She immediately threw her arms around him, her extra weight pushing them under the next wave.

As they broke through the inky swell, he spat out a mouth full of seawater. "Bethany!" he barked, trying to keep his head above water. "Stop grabbing at me! If you panic, we'll both drown."

Despite the insanity of the moment, he was stunned to hear her _laugh_. "Ah, it's freezing!" she said with a cackle, not loosening her hold on him at all; if anything her arms tightened around his neck. "It's an adventure!"

" _Maker preserve me_ ," he said to himself with a curse. "Bethany, let go! I can get us back to the boat, but not with you clinging like that. I won't let you drown, I promise."

He could have sworn that she _kissed_ his _ear_ before she let go of him and floated at his side. "I can swim, you know," she said, her eyes shining in the darkness. "What are you so worried about?"

Blessed Andraste- this woman was going to be the death of him. "We are not having a discussion in the middle of Kirkwall Harbour about all the things I'm worried about," he muttered. The boat had come back around and he raised his hand from the water to hail them closer. Something flew through the air and landed in the water nearby with a splatter- it looked like a rope. Taking her hand in his, he swam the few feet towards it and wrapped it around his wrist, before pulling her tightly against his side. In the water he felt her legs brushing against his as she kicked to stay afloat; he tried not to think about how her dress might drift about with the current, exposing a flash of white skin in the dark of the bay...

He wasn't thinking about it. Not at all.

Using the rope, he pulled them back towards the boat; after a moment someone took up the strain on the other end and they surged through the water. He made sure Bethany was pulled from the cold first, passing her up and out of his grasp; a moment later and the same hands came back for him, but he ignored them, levering himself over the edge.

Bethany sat on the floor, a growing puddle around her as she began to shiver. She looked up as he came tumbling over the edge and he caught her sparkling expression. _Maker_ , she had _enjoyed_ that. In that moment he could definitely tell that she was Garrett Hawke's sister.

"Are you alright, serrah?" the helmsman said; he'd abandoned his post at the tiller to assist in their rescue. He and the only other crewman stood awkwardly over the pair of them.

Trying to wipe the excess sea water from his face, Cullen sighed. Now that the moment was over, and Bethany was safe, his wild surge of adrenalin was beginning to recede. He felt immensely weary, and as far as he was concerned, the evening couldn't be over sooner. "I don't suppose you keep towels, or blankets, do you?" It was a bit of a vain hope- the craft was tiny, and only meant for ferrying passengers between the Gallows and the city proper, a journey that usually took under an hour.

The helmsman shook his head, as expected.

"Get back to the helm, then, man; I'd rather get her as far from the water as quickly as possible." As the two men went back to their places, he looked over at Bethany, drenched to the skin but grinning like a madwoman. "You, woman, are a menace. I think you just took ten years off my life when you went tumbling over the edge of the boat."

She shivered so violently that he sighed and pulled her onto his lap, tucking his coat tightly around her so that at least one of them would be warm. She giggled and snuggled into him, hooking her hands around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. "But that was fun!" she said breathlessly, her wriggling causing him all manner of problems. "Everybody says you're such a stick in the mud, but that was excellent! We should have fun like that more often."

He tried to cobble together his rapidly retreating common sense as she continued to giggle and press herself against him. If she'd been sober, he would have suspected that this was his punishment, concocted by a female determined to have her revenge for being spurned. But she wasn't sober, so he could only grit his teeth and pray that she stopped moving- _soon_. "I would hardly call falling overboard in a drunken state fun, Bethany. We could have _died_."

She giggled again, squirming until he felt light headed with need. "Oh shush, Cullen," she said, teeth chattering. She pulled away just far enough that he could feel her breath against his jaw. "Don't go back to being grumpy Templar Captain Cullen just yet. Stay as my fun Cullen for a little while longer."

 _She's drunk, she's drunk,_ he chanted desperately as her fingers traced down the line of his jaw; he grunted in surprise when they turned forceful, grasping his chin firmly and turning him down to face her. It was then that he realised he'd spoken out loud; the determination in her gaze a warning that he had vastly underestimated her.

"I'm not _so_ drunk," she said. Then she kissed him.

He groaned at the first contact and tried to do the right thing and pull away; he learned then and there that Bethany Hawke had a surprising amount of strength hidden away in her willowy frame. The fingers on his chin tightened almost painfully and her other hand had crept around to the base of his neck; she kept him firmly in place as her lips caressed his, soft but firm and _Maker take it all_ this couldn't be happening; it _couldn't_ happen. For both their sakes, he had to resist her- even if it was the hardest thing in his life not to just sink blissfully into the kiss and see what it felt like to have a woman as dignified as Bethany lose all self-control because of what _he_ had done to her.

But he couldn't, and he _didn't_ , so he forced himself to remain still, even though his arms wanted to come up around her, tilt her head back so that he could take full command of the moment and... sweet blood of the prophet, he was doing it again.

When he didn't return the kiss, she huffed in frustration and pulled back. She pouted, but there was real pain in the depths of her eyes as she said "Apologies, Knight Captain; I didn't realise I was so abhorrent to you."

Abhorrent? Bethany? Nothing would ever be further from the truth.

Madness took him.

They were soaking wet, huddled together on the floor of a sloop in the middle of the harbour in the middle of the night- there was nothing right about this moment. And yet he might never find another moment like this, even if he hunted through all of his days. There was nothing right about it- but there was nothing wrong about it either.

This time _he_ kissed _her_.

He slanted his lips over hers, silencing her peep of surprise with his mouth. It had been an eternity since he had done this, but it was not a dance one easily forgot. He had a hand tangled in her hair before she could escape and his other hand snaked across her hip and dragged her tightly up against his chest.

He kissed her with every desperate, pent up emotion that he had kept locked away these past eighteen months; she moaned in response to his fervour, her hands wrapping around his neck as she clung to him just as desperately.

She was soft, just like he had imagined, and the hint of lyrium on her tongue gave off just enough of a zing to have him groaning and coaxing her mouth open so that he could taste her further. He ran his tongue along the edge of her lip, paying particularly attention to the corner of her mouth until she was whimpering needily. He sucked her top lip gently between his teeth, biting down with infinite care; she was already writhing in his arms, trembling and gasping and driving him even higher towards total abandon.

" _Cullen_ ," she whimpered in a breath between kisses, gasping when he let his hand slide further over her hip and down towards the curve of her bottom.

He growled at the sounds she made, kissing her fiercely as he conquered her mouth with his, sliding his tongue in and out with a rhythm that had just as much effect on him as it did on her. " _Beth_ ," he murmured, pulling her against him so violently that he felt her shift, felt her twist in his hold until her knees rested either side of his hips. Her dress was rucked up above her knees and the sight of her pale thighs wrapped around his waist was devastatingly good.

He pressed against her backside until she had to shuffle forward, until she was pressed so tightly against him that he groaned in delight. _Maker_ , nothing had ever felt this good before.

The kiss turned more desperate as the fires crackling between them were stoked higher and hotter. His hand was creeping down the curve of her hip, heading for her exposed thigh- just to touch and see if it felt as good as it looked- when there was a jarring bump and they fell sideways.

Cullen was the first to recover, sitting up to see the two sailors tying off the ropes to the pier and studiously avoiding looking at them. Looking up, he felt his stomach drop as he saw the Gallows looming over them.

They'd arrived home.

He looked down at her- bedraggled, soaking wet and panting desperately for air as she touched her fingers to her lips with what looked like awe in her eyes. Her gaze sought his, and she looked past him to the building that soared upwards into the dark of the night.

She paled visibly, even in the low light. "You know," she said uneasily, her words far more uneven than they had been a few minutes earlier, "I do believe I have had entirely too much to drink."

And then she promptly fainted.

***

There was nothing else for it, he thought moodily the next morning. He'd have to resign his commission. He had broken faith with the most critical tenet of the Order and had allowed himself to _fraternise_ with a mage. His mood sunk to an even darker place when he discarded that word, finding it too impersonal for the magical connection that had taken place between them last night. They hadn't been fraternising, they had been... he struggled to find the word that suited.

They had been _discovering_ each other, he decided, learning exactly what it meant to find another soul that fit so perfectly in the spaces that were lacking in one's own self. He had never felt as alive as he had in her arms, and it left him in agony to know that, in all likelihood, he would never feel it again. There was no happy ending to be had from this madness; no one would smile indulgently and allow them their little infatuation.

She was a mage, and he was a Templar. There was nothing to be done about that.

He was sitting alone in the chapel, brooding over the inevitability of his fate, and remembering the conclusion to the evening. When Bethany had swooned in the boat, he had panicked; he'd tried to reassure himself it was simply the evening catching up with her, but still, he couldn't help but fret. He'd carried her from the boat, and then onto her room- and then the guilt at his long ignored duties began to surface, jarring at his honour and sense of decency. And so, like a coward, he had left Bethany alone in her room, not even waiting to see if she would be alright and then all but sprinted for his own quarters, where he awaited the inevitable shouts of outrage and scorn that never came. He couldn't believe that his luck could have lasted so well- surely it was only a matter of time now before they came to clap him in irons, shouting accusations that were well founded in truth.

When he heard a soft set of footsteps approaching along the aisle, he half turned in his seat, expecting it to be the inevitable end... and then stumbled to his feet when he saw who had come in behind him.

Bethany.

"Miss Hawke," he said quickly, trying to ignore the way his pulse leapt at her approach.

She had a nervous energy to her this morning that seemed out of place. "Knight Captain," she said hesitantly.

They both seemed to struggle for words, so he took the risk and spoke first. "And how are you, this morning?" he asked awkwardly. "I trust that you slept well once we arrived home."

She flushed bright red and avoided looking him in the eye. "Cullen... Knight Captain, I must ask. I have very few clear memories of last night- did I do anything... _inappropriate_ , at all, last night? I feel that I must, both from your discomfort and my own unease."

He blinked. And then blinked again. She didn't remember? Sweet Andraste, he had a _way out_. If she had no recollection of what had occurred between them, then the only one aware of his lapse would be him.

"I..." The words died on his tongue as he stared at her, remembering exactly how she felt and tasted and smelled. It was the most glorious cacophony of sensations he had every experienced- but he could not allow it to continue. He steeled himself. "Your behaviour was perfectly acceptable given the circumstances, Miss Hawke. You were celebrating your brother's birthday, and it was a rare night of freedom for you. I don't know anyone who could have been more contained than you managed to be."

He had carefully avoided answering her question about whether or not she had indulged in anything less than exemplary. He could see that realisation dawning on her slowly and prepared himself. "I just feel that perhaps... perhaps I did something that was out of order."

The lie felt so bitter on his tongue that he nearly gagged. "I assure you, Miss Hawke, nothing untoward took place. It was an eventful evening, to be sure." He paused, before testing his luck. "Do you truly not remember anything? I must confess, you seem remarkably... vivacious, given how much alcohol you consumed."

She laughed, the sound rich and just as delightful as it had been in the ballroom the night before. "It is incredible the number of hangover cures my arsenal includes," she said, winking at him. "Although, I must confess, it is the first time I've had to use it on myself instead of on Garrett. And he's utterly correct, they taste _awful_."

He swallowed uncomfortably, the laugh combined with the wink doing wretched things to his self-control. "So not an experience you'll be repeating then?"

"The evening was rather... _ill advised_ , all things considered," she said, smiling with a touch of wickedness in her eyes. "But we have outwitted Garrett, and that is what counts. Wouldn't you agree, Knight Captain?"

Maker save him, but _those eyes_ \- that hint of impishness was enough to have him surreptitiously reaching for the pew beside him, hoping she wouldn't notice as he clung to it for dear life. Knowing now how she would react if he were to pull her into him, the way she would gasp just so every time she approved of his wandering touch, the mischief in her eyes was almost a challenge to him.

"I would agree, Miss Hawke," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice the rasp in his voice.

Her smile softened and she nodded in a way that clearly indicated the conversation was at an end. "If I might beg your indulgence, I was hoping to spend a few minutes here before I take the children's class. Would it bother you if I was here too?"

He so desperately wanted it to be a veiled query, wanted her to be asking him that significant other question. But he had a way out, a way for him to keep his rank and continue in the duties that the Maker had entrusted him with. If it was known that they had dallied, however innocent it was in reality to most other trysts, then being dishonourably ejected from the Order would be only the very best possible outcome of the chaos that would come crashing down. It was very likely he'd be put to death; even more possible that she would be made Tranquil.

To think of her beautiful, soulful eyes, dimmed and lifeless...

"I was just leaving, Miss Hawke," he said. He bowed politely to her and made sure not to get too close to her as he made his way to the door. "I will leave you with the sanctuary to yourself."

He left her to her prayers, pausing in the hallway to briefly touch his fingers to his lips; even now, hours later, he could still taste her there. He hated his cowardice and for the first time ever, he hated the faith that kept them apart.

But it was better this way.

***

In the chapel, kneeling before the statue of Andraste, Bethany waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, and then sighed.

She touched her fingers to her lips, still tender from his bruising kisses. Even now, hours later, she could still taste him there. She had never been as drunk as he had assumed her to be, Isabela's clever plan, but she was sensible enough to know that, despite what her heart wanted, there was very little she could do to change the world that caged her.

It was better this way.


End file.
